


Balm

by insight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Needy!Dean, implied bottom!dean, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insight/pseuds/insight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes pleasure in himself (sort-of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balm

Dean has this old knot in his shoulder, an ache along the midline of his trapezius. It crops up from time to time, an old pain that makes him roll his shoulders to ease it away. But oftentimes it concentrates under his skin, a small center of pain that he can't quite distract himself from. And, fuck, does it make Dean aware of all the little groans and creaks of his decades-old body, the scars from old hunts pulling at his skin.

So now sometimes, Dean takes to rubbing in an balm- he bites his lip in pleasure when he hits the spot- that smells divine, yeah, and feels divine too. He doesn't get to do this too often, the metrosexual _your body is your temple_ thing- doesn't have the time when the world's going apocalyptic-o and hunts are going south. But his body's starting to feel the neglect and so help him, a measure of vanity is a healthy thing to have.

That doesn't excuse the fact that he's staring into a mirror while rubbing himself down, though.

Weirdly enough, he's reminded of glancing up at a mirrored ceiling as it shattered down on him, and he remembers startling at Cas' sudden appearance in a motel room, watching Cas watching him. Over time, the myriad of reflections and deflections between them had made Dean want to punch his fist through a wall but- he's always had better control than that. Dean knows that Cas is oblivious, sure, but Dean also knows that some small part of Cas is also aware, the way Cas'd been hesitantly scrying for it in that mirror.

Dean soothes himself by pressing slippery fingers across the achy expanse of his skin, kneading into the muscle enough to let out a faint groan. The spicy scent of it- cajuput oil and menthol- stings at his nose and he pulls his arm back from his shoulderblade, lets his fingers fall to his neck, the new chain there running between his slick fingers, the links that feel like moist beads. It reminds him that his worn-out body has survived a lot and that it's likely to do a lot more surviving in the future.

Maybe Cas doesn't want this body, and that's okay. Maybe it's even more than okay because Dean's not going to go chasing after him, begging for his body to be cleaved.


End file.
